Sunday, January 25, 2015

Mr. Coffee Cup

(Image by TB)

He sits on the counter
with memories
I don't visit often
and smiles
because he knows it better:
I can't get used to the
English cold.

The first and the last time
we have been together,
the days spent in exile
each of us locked
in his own cupboard.

He smiles
because he knows it better.
He returns to me my understanding
of home.

Saturday, January 24, 2015


On a train crossing Central England
he is not the same man who left
but he's thankful for the meadows and the trees,
weather is surprisingly good,
he's thankful for being home.

To be reunited with innocence,
hurt and pain are unloaded here.
Tired. Shouldn't have carried
so much luggage.

Back to his motherland's womb
he is one with perfection
to sing and recite poems to the stars
to dance with the wind and the earth
like a whirling Dervish.


My heart searches for
a peaceful spot to
open itself up.
- I say.
A word at a time
or we'll scare him away.
Are we still dreaming?

Kensi 'n' Tom - Already thrown

Listen to the full EP by clicking here

:: Left to fate - TB

The over-pleasant lassitude
Has eaten away at him,
Resulting in the desuetude
Of the once tended-to fields of his mind.

His mind, his nemesis.
His thoughts, a labyrinth.
Better wait up for Lady Luck to reappear,
Dressed in her alluring, seductive, diaphanous gown.

The ephemeral joys of deciding for himself
Are soon plucked away by the deft fingers of fate.
She loves me, she loves me not.
Toss a coin. Tails says nothing changes.

He thought he’d been prescribed the elixir of life.
He’d obviously picked up the wrong bottle
And then spun it in the wrong direction,
A sign maybe, a harbinger of doom perhaps.

:: Binding forces - KC

I know fate very well.
When I was young
we were best friends and
fate taught me to read star maps.
It sat in my classroom once and
devoured all the books I recommended.
Fate is a memory
buried under an ancient stone statue
on the top of Mt. Nemrut.
Fate is a jerk.
Fate kisses like a girl.
Fate has me wrapped 
around his finger.
Fate is pro naturist.
Fate makes me sing.
Fate is so smart.

I search fate in bed
in the middle of the night
but it's destiny I spoon with.
Destiny plays with my curls.
Destiny and I don't talk much.
except in the mirror before
we leave for work.


- TB's official house  is Under the Toadstool. I'm so used to his company already it will be awful when he leaves. 
- "Fate without destiny" is and idea derived from the Chinese concept of Yuanfén.  
- These poems are shared with The Real Toads
- Kensi 'n' Tom EP original photo and artwork by TB.

Friday, January 23, 2015

The itch

They see me from afar.
They see me and think they know
what I am made of.

linen, lines, lies on storage -
they think they see me from afar.
They think they think.

They think they see
for they have been granted eyes.
A heart, a mouth and a mind -

They have also been granted these things
and left to discover how to use them
for themselves.

They think they know how to.
They think we're made of the same stuff.
They think we do closeness.